Disclaimer: If I owned Degrassi (I don't), needless to say, my favorite character wouldn't be DEAD, and my other favorite character wouldn't have to CRY OVER THE LOSS OF HIM. Ahem. No profit is being made, this is purely for entertainment (and mourning) purposes.
XXX
Knowing that JT is six feet beneath her, that even though he's close, she couldn't ever reach him… it feels so wrong to Liberty. Only the hollow body emptied of a comedic boy rests in that coffin, and no amount of crying, nostalgia or digging is ever going to change that.
The wind is strong today, different shades of gray are tugged fluently across the sky; it's cloudy. Liberty feels that this is suitable weather for mourning the loss of a friend, for standing at his grave site and reminiscing, but she can only bring herself to clutch her sweater more tightly around her torso and stare at a tree peeking up from over the hill.
He was much too young; far too lively to be deserving of such a cruel death. She never did get to say goodbye. His death was a tragedy, no one saw it coming. Facts. She prefers facts to feelings.
And she clutches her sweater a little tighter as a shudder runs up her spine. She isn't sure if it is induced by the cold.
Part of her feels like she should say something, but the more logical side of her knows full well that she'd only be talking to polished granite and a few flowers strewn carelessly in front of the tombstone.
Thinking this, Liberty leans down onto her knees. Carefully, she reaches forward and arranges the flowers intricately in front of the grave, in no time they are propped up along the bottom edge of the marble surface, stems woven together, brown petals plucked off the wilting flowers and tossed behind her. Perfect. Or, close, anyway. She's simply trying to maintain a little order in the midst of her chaos.
Standing up, she brushes off the dirt that stubbornly clings to the skin of her knees.
He's gone, she's not in denial. There's no denying she wishes he was holding her hand, helping her through this with his subtle jokes told in a time of tragedy. She needs him… And she doesn't deny it because she doesn't acknowledge it in the first place.
The wind has stopped blowing, but a sob she hasn't let out makes her shiver anyway.
She decides it's best to go home, and she walks away without saying goodbye or having properly grieved. It's how she's programmed.
That night, with troubled eyes she returns to her bedroom and closes the door. She turns on her closet light, her ceiling light, and the bedside lamp that has the beads tied around the rim. Bright white light floods her room, dripping down corners and soaking the air around her.
Somehow the dark still trickles in.
XXX
This probably won't be my last fic about Liberty, as she has been put through hell and, despite the fact that she isn't real, I want to cry for the poor girl. So, anyway, please do me a favor and review, I'll return the favor. ;)